And Introducing Cable
by Marching Madly Onward
Summary: (Deadpool 2016, post-movie) The day is somewhat saved, by which I mean all the right guys are dead and Wade's life looks to be on the up and up. So this weird half-metal douche canoe from the future just had to ruin it for him.


**And Introducing Cable**

If Wade knew he was going to have company, he might have spritzed the place down with some of Vanessa's air freshener.

"...six weeks from now, a great calamity..."

He might have taken out the trash and washed his clothes, which smelled like old, black, blind lady. (That's what happens when you borrow Al's sweats because all of your normal people clothes are covered in blood and urine. Not all his.) He wasn't exactly sure how black smelled. Especially sure he didn't know how blind smelled. But still. He had a guest. And a person who pretended to forget that he wasn't a rude, crude, horny, sweaty meat bag full of cancer had once told him that guests demanded nice-smelling clothes and a presentable appearance with things like neatly combed hair and freshly brushed hair and pants.

"...to avert the dark future that mutantkind..."

Of course, he would have been wearing pants and a whole lot more if he hadn't slipped on a pair of green socks – and only the socks – to get into the spirit of getting into Vanessa in honor of St. Patrick's Day.

"...assemble a strike force, an X-Force, to hunt—"

"Did you say X-Force?" Wade perked up a bit at the name even as little Wade had lost all of his perk at all that hot not-sexing-up-Vanessa action going on right now.

The newcomer cocked one, silver eyebrow.

"I did."

"That would be such a cool name for a band!"

"Deadpool," the traveler from the future and the ruiner of sexy times sighed.

"Hon, do you think I should join the weirdo's supergroup? Oh! Oh oh oh! Should I play keyboard of bass? Tell me you don't have a bassist already, Broseidon. You do, don't you? Well, fuck me running. Actually, I can do you one better. Why don't I give you the best of both worlds and play the keytar? Synth that motherfucker up!"

"Can you even play a keytar, Wade?" said Vanessa from the bed, where she had bundled herself in a roly poly ball of sheets to preserve some semblance of modesty after the big, half-metal freak with a big gun popped into existence in the middle of their kitchenette.

In other words, this was the perfect time to find out if her boyfriend played a silly instrument from the 80s.

"How hard could it be?"

"Deadpool," the newcomer repeated, trying to keep the Canadian killer-of-many-people on topic. "Time is of the essence. We can't—"

"Hold on, Broseph!" Wade jabbed a finger at the weirdo's half-chrome face. "You already interrupted fun times once. Don't let it happen again."

"Wade!"

"We're on a first name basis now? I'll have to introduce you to my parents when they're in town next week, Brochohontas."

"Our enemies could be mobilizing already, and the longer I stay, the more damage I may do to the time stream."

"Chillax, Broliver Twist," Wade said with a friendly grin and pat on the shoulder. "Why don't you go shout some insults at some Jews. It will make you feel better."

"I—Why would I do that? Do you think I'm some sort of Nazi from the future?"

"You've got the accent for it, Brobocop."

"How could you even come to that conclusion?" the time traveler huffed. "I come from centuries in the future. There is bound to have been enough linguistic drift in the English language that it's even a wonder we can understand each other so well."

And then the newbie talked some more and talked and talked and talked, and Wade slid into bed and slid a hand up Vanessa's thigh. He almost made it to home base when something occurred to Vanessa (other than his throbbing erection, of course).

"Sweden."

"Come again? And you know I mean that as a double, triple and quadruple entendre."

"It's not a German accent. This...'Cable' is speaking with a Swedish accent."

Wade's face screwed up, either in more sexual frustration or confusion or both, and he shot a look over his shoulder.

"You're from Future Sweden? Why didn't you bring us some Future Chocolate? Or are the Future Swiss not known for exporting chocolate anymore? Is their new big export metal-plated assholes who cock block me all afternoon?"

The future Swede (?) in question brought a shiny, metal hand to the bridge of his nose to rub away the mounting headache.

"I knew there would be resistance, but Mother Askani never told me you would be such a handful."

"Look, Brochacho, I'm about to be the one with a handful, so why don't you buzz off and come back some time around, I don't know, never?"

Cable would not stomp his feet or scream to get his way, but he had a pretty good pout going for him, if Wade had anything to say about it.

He was about to shout as much after Cable as he stormed out of the apartment, but Wade thought of something better.

"Oh, and that handful I'm about to have? It's my girlfriend's tit!"

"Just one?" Vanessa purred up at him as she pulled him in for a kiss. "Which one gets to be lucky? Lefty or Reginald?"

Wade loved this woman who had named her chesticles.

"Mmm," Wade moaned into the kiss. "Haven't decided yet. I'll play it by ear."

"You are going to go after him later though, aren't you?"

"Oh, fuck yeah. How could I not join a boy band when it has a cool ass name like X-Force?"

"If you were listening, he wasn't putting a band together."

"But he said it was a supergroup!"


End file.
